‘Perhaps she don’t understand English,’ suggested Roding. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service.
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